


a dance or two to escape the gloom

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, CEO Felicity Smoak, CEO Oliver Queen, Dancing, F/M, RIVAL CEO AU, Rival Relationship, Slow Dancing, holiday fic, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Queen Incorporated's Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak of Smoak Technologies, rival CEOs, dance with each other at a holiday gala to avoid their exes.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 32
Kudos: 376





	a dance or two to escape the gloom

**Author's Note:**

> i originally wrote this as a holiday gift for the wonderful elley (@thisiselley) - i'm so glad you enjoyed this elley, and i hope others enjoy it too! xxx
> 
> minor trigger warning: there is brief mention of past emotionally abusive relationships.

Yep, Oliver’s made his decision.

He vehemently _hates_ holiday parties.

He especially hates them when they’re using festive cheer and Christmas spirit as a front for wealthy, arrogant CEOs and business owners to try and beat each other in the size of their charitable donations while getting drunk on terrible champagne and simpering to investors - that’s all that Merlyn Global’s elite holiday parties are ever for. And the reason Oliver despises these sort of things is because he himself is a CEO of his own rebranded family company, Queen Incorporated, and he runs charity drives all year around, not just during the holidays for the publicity and popularity. As well as that, he’s publicly known to be a bachelor, which is pure hell at events like this.

Sighing, Oliver knocks back another glass of the horrible sparkling wine, hoping to get himself at least lightly drunk. That’s the only way he’s going to survive until the end of this nightmare-fest. This might be one of his worst Christmas Eves ever. For the past hour, he’s been trying to avoid two of his exes, District Attorney Laurel Lance and the newly crowned CEO of Bertinelli Construction, Helena Bertinelli. Laurel only wanted to date Oliver for his money and family name, and once she realized that he had no intentions of proposing a year into their relationship, she transformed into an emotionally abusive and psychologically manipulative bitch and attempted to get Moira and Robert, Oliver’s parents, to disown him.

She failed, fortunately, and Oliver broke free from her clutches - only to fall into the hands of Helena six months later, who tried to bed him in order to negotiate a better deal for her company to construct an extension building for QI’s Applied Sciences division. When that didn’t work, she pretty much dropped him immediately and maliciously posted nude photos she took of Oliver without his consent online to blackmail him into giving her the contract. Oliver’s notorious playboy past meant that a lot of pictures of him naked had already graced the internet, though, so her plan didn’t work.

So those are the two witches who Oliver is dodging tonight. He’s succeeded thus far. Mingling with other CEOs and investors, pretending to listen to them harp on to him about their contributions to the charity efforts around the city that they obviously don’t give a shit about when they don’t get attention for it, is occupying and wasting his time.

Oliver is nodding along to something a Wayne Enterprises representative is saying (he thinks they might be suggesting a pharmaceuticals collaboration of some sort? Which makes sense since QI is the second leading medical tech producer in the US currently, with Wayne trailing in the dust) when the investor abruptly changes the subject, informing him, “It appears as if DA Lance wants to speak to you, Mr Queen.”

His heart clenching with dread, Oliver turns around and grimaces in distaste when he sees that Laurel is indeed across the room staring at him, a falsely friendly smile on her face while her eyes betray how thirsty she is for his attention. It’s as Laurel takes a step towards him that slow Christmas music starts up and an announcement is made that it’s time for some dancing. Laurel begins striding towards Oliver with purpose now. Silently panicking, Oliver says goodbye to the group he’s conversing with and hurries away from her as rapidly as possible, hoping that he’ll be able to duck out and hide in the men’s bathroom or something.

He’s almost made it to the exit when he slams into somebody who appears to be in as much as a rush as him to escape. Oliver catches the person by their wrists to stop them from tripping and falling, an apology about to spill from his lips when he recognizes them.

It’s Felicity Smoak, the CEO of Smoak Technologies. She’s a twenty-seven year old genius and her company is a major competitor of Queen Incorporated. Smoak Tech the first leading medical tech producer that QI is currently lagging behind, and they’re also the leading inventors of various cybersecurity programs that are used worldwide by global corporations and governments - even by the UN. She has _very_ strong opinions about QI’s weapon designing and producing program for the US army and she has not been afraid to tell Oliver what she thinks of those policies before, at other charity galas and benefits. She’s an extremely strong, bold, intelligent young woman, and Oliver would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed and a little terrified of how brilliant she is.

“Miss Smoak,” he stutters in greeting.

She seems to be equally as flustered. “Mr Queen!”

Oliver runs his eyes down her form and immediately regrets it, his cheeks heating up. Felicity has curled her blonde hair into waves and is wearing a shimmering shoulderless red dress, with a giant slit down her left thigh. She looks _amazing_. Judging by the flush to her face and the appreciative look she sends him as she admires him in his tux, she thinks roughly the same.

He catches sight of Laurel over Felicity’s shoulder and tenses. “Shit.”

Felicity frowns at him in confusion and glances behind her curiously. When she spots Laurel weaving her way through the couples forming to take to the dance floor, her eyes widen. “Oh god. Dude, I totally get you. Me too,” she tells Oliver under her breath, pointing as subtly as possible to their left.

Oliver casts a quick glance to where she’s pointing to and winces. Ray Palmer, the President of Palmer Tech - which is one of Felicity’s main competitors, but thankfully not one of his - is desperately trying to shove through the crowds to get to them. He thinks he can remember that Felicity and Ray had a brief romantic tryst back when the blonde had worked under him as Vice President as PT. Something must have gone wrong because Felicity left PT abruptly nine months ago to start Smoak Tech, swiftly building her own company up from the ground.

“He’s been harassing me all evening,” Felicity mutters. “He wants to invest in Smoak Tech. He’s a lovely guy but he’s just… started acting really creepy since I broke up with him and struck out on my own.” She rolls her eyes. “Probably a bad idea of mine to attend a holiday party that I knew my ex would be at.”

“Two of mine are here,” Oliver sighs.

Felicity hesitates and then suggests shyly, “I know we’re sort of rivals, but do you wanna stick this out together so we don’t have to talk to them? If we pretend as if we’re in a deep business conversation they might leave us alone.” 

“Nope, won’t work. Laurel will interrupt us without a second thought if she thinks it will get my attention.” A random but also genius idea comes to mind. Taking Felicity’s hand, he tugs her out onto the center of the ballroom floor. “But if we dance and keep moving, it might stop them from approaching us for a while.”

Felicity’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Dance? With _you_?”

“Listen, I know you hate my guts,” Oliver whispers, leaning in to get closer. “But this way we get to avoid our exes. What’s worse - dancing with a CEO of a rival company or being forced to interact with Ray Palmer?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Felicity huffs and then mumbles, “I don’t _hate_ you… and yes, dancing does sound better than dealing with Ray. But I’m an awful dancer and I don’t wanna embarrass myself in front of the Starling elite. I’ve got two left feet.”

“Luckily for you, I’ve been taking ballroom dancing lessons since I was seven,” Oliver smirks. He lifts her arms up so her hands rest on his shoulders and then gently places his own hands on her hips. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

He begins swaying them gently to the music. Felicity still appears uneasy. “Mr Queen, I’m not sure…”

“Call me Oliver,” he tells her, gracing her with a reassuring, soft grin. “And I just need you to trust me for the next ten minutes, Miss Smoak. I promise I won’t make you look stupid.”

She sighs but then cracks a tentative smile. “Well, I suppose… you can call me Felicity. And you might want to spin me because Laurel is coming right up behind us -”

Oliver grasps Felicity’s waist securely and lifts her into the air effortlessly, twirling her around while making sure they travel across the floor away from Laurel. Once he’s placed Felicity down on her feet again - the crowd around them titters and claps for them - they’re surrounded by other dancing pairs, safe from being walked up on. Breathless, Felicity stumbles a little, but Oliver catches her and wraps his arm more tightly around her waist until the two of them are pressed together. Immediately, the blonde blushes and bites her lip, her beautiful blue eyes searching him for what, he isn’t sure. Chuckling, Oliver guides Felicity into an easy waltz and as they circle the room, the two of them catch occasional glimpses of Laurel and Ray standing together by the buffet table, Ray looking very put out and Laurel appearing murderous.

“For somebody with two left feet, you’re remarkably nimble on them,” Oliver whispers.

“I’ve got a good dancing teacher,” Felicity replies, inclining her head. She actually looks as if she’s enjoying this. Oliver is glad, because he’s having fun as well. “This isn’t nearly as bad I thought it might be. Not that I thought it was going to be _bad_. I’ve just - I’ve never danced at a party like this before and I’m really somebody who usually takes a back seat for anything.”

“You’re a leader, not a follower,” Oliver nods. He understands what she’s saying, even as she struggles to put it into words. As he speaks, he notices Felicity’s eyes flicker down to his mouth. She licks her own and then looks back up at him, blush deepening. So he’s not the only one being affected by this… god. Bending his head so his lips brush against her ear, he murmurs lowly, “Maybe next time we dance, you can be the one leading me.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” Felicity asks, her voice trembling.

Oliver dips her, wiggling his eyebrows as the blonde peers up at him from where she’s lying in his arms, taken back by his boldness. “That’s up to you.”

They dance for a couple more songs until Laurel throws her cocktail napkin down onto the floor out of frustration and storms out, and Ray seems to give up and begins striking up a conversation with Helena Bertinelli - so both Oliver and Felicity’s exes are occupying each other’s focus. Once they’re in the clear and the next song ends, Oliver leads Felicity off the dance floor and keeps a hold of her hand as he escorts her to the exit.

“Would you like me to walk with you to your car?” he asks politely.

Felicity shakes her head, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “No thank you, I’m fine. And I’m, um, getting an Uber back to the office… that champagne was so awful I needed three glasses more than the drink-drive limit to get tipsy enough to not feel utterly dreadful.”

“You’re spending Christmas Eve in your office?” Oliver asks in disbelief.

She laughs. Oliver can’t help but think it’s one of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I’m Jewish, Oliver. I don’t really celebrate Christmas. It’s the third night of Hanukkah but I was only planning on eating _sufganiyot_ and watching _The Witcher_ on Netflix in my pajamas.”

“That sounds like a much more enjoyable evening than the disappointing one you’re having currently.”

“Ah, yes, well… I wouldn’t call it disappointing,” Felicity smiles. “It’s always the people you meet that make these kind of parties worth it.”

Oliver’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

“Hmm. I met somebody special tonight.” She pauses and adds, “Who I promise, I do not hate as much as he thinks, even if he is my competitor.”

Determined to be a gentleman, Oliver insists on waiting on the curb with Felicity for her Uber. If the two of them stand a little closer together than constitutes a platonic business colleague relationship, with their elbows brushing, neither of them say anything to comment on it. As the black cab pulls up to the sidewalk, Oliver steps forward to open the back door to hold it for her, offering Felicity his hand so she can clamber in.

“Goodnight, Miss Smoak,” he murmurs, kissing her cheek slowly. He wants to prolong it but also doesn’t want to push boundaries. As he pulls back, however, Oliver realizes that Felicity was savoring it as well, her eyes closed and a soft, wistful expression on her face. “It was a pleasure to see you tonight. Thank you for saving me from my ex and for the lovely dance.”

“Goodnight, Mr Queen,” she replies in a whisper. “It was my pleasure as well. You are a… truly excellent dancer. And a good man. Better than you think you are.” She pushes something small into Oliver’s hand before doing up her seatbelt and closing the car door behind her.

As Oliver watches the Uber drive off into the distance, he peers down at the small slip of paper she passed off to him.

It has her cell number written down followed by the word _Dinner?_ in Felicity’s neat, loopy handwriting.

He grins.

Okay, maybe holiday parties aren’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed xx
> 
> twitter: @lexiblackbriar  
> tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13


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